


like a blister in the sun

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Rocket should be on his own cot passing out. He should not be climbing on Thor’s bed and sprawling next to the guy.





	like a blister in the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mimosa-supernova (FourCatProductions)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/gifts).



> Happy RMS, mimosa-supernova! It was fun writing for you, I hope you enjoy :)

The room quiets.

Their high floor presents a full view of Wakanda under a midday sun. At this hour, the city should be a bustle of activity, but the movement on the roads seems light. No traffic, open paths and sidewalks. The horizon still smolders in the aftermath of the attack. Severed trees mark the skyline between splintered warships.

“That’s your plan?” Rocket asks at last.

Thor crosses massive arms over an equally massive chest. “It may be a dead end, I grant you that. But even the slightest chance of finding our friends is worth it, Rabbit. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Rabbit. If anyone else tried to use the name, Rocket would shove a knife where the sun doesn't shine. “I'm good with the going part,” Rocket says. “My issue’s the cover.”

Thor shrugs. “Asgardian warriors have visited Lothmar for centuries. They will welcome Asgard's king,” he lowers his eyes, “or what remains of it.”

Poor guy tries not to brood, but he’s brooding anyway. Hell, they all are. None of this is normal. Their lives, this new universe, watching friends go up in smoke. Groot; there one minute, gone the next...

Desperate times and all that, but Rocket still has to point out the obvious. “It ain’t you I’m worried about.”

Thor smiles. “Do not fret, Rabbit. Inhabitants of all realms attend the affairs on Lothmar. No one will bat an eye at your kind.”

“They’ll bat as many eyes as they got when they see you with me."

Thor’s smile wanes, and Rocket wonders if he’s finally talked some sense into the guy - or god, whatever. It’s not that Rocket isn’t up for helping on this crazy mission. Hell, crazy missions are his specialty! But he’d rather go in with a halfway believable cover. This plan? Not it.

Thor clears his throat. “You...do not wish to attend with me. Is that it?”

Rocket frowns. “I’m not saying I wish or don’t wish, Thor. I’m saying, who the hell’s gonna buy that you, fancy pants King of Asgard, is at this shindig with _me_?” He waves exasperated arms in Thor's direction.

“You are my chosen companion,” Thor says slowly. “Everyone will be with their chosen companions.”

Rocket groans. “Yeah, but no one’ll buy it, that's the thing. There’s no way your lordship is showing up at some glammed out hub with me as your ‘companion.’”

“Rabbit.” Thor bends; Rocket hates when he pulls this sentimental crap. Even the fake eye Rocket gave him looks concerned. “If you do not desire my company, I'm sure one of the others would join you in my stead.”

“Huh?”

“The Captain, or perhaps Romanoff.”

“Are you serious?” Rocket rubs his eyes with a labored sigh. “Fine! Geez, I can’t with the sad face, Thunder. You got issues.”

Thor brightens and rubs Rocket’s head in encouragement. “I do indeed have issues,” he agrees. “It’s settled then. I’ll inform the others.”

He marches out of the room, leaving Rocket to look out at the city and the wreckage that haunts beyond it.

“There’s issues, and there’s _issues_ ,” Rocket mutters. His fur feels warm where Thor touched him.

***

The ship they take is small, but at least it comes equipped with an auto-nav system. Rocket broached the idea of using Thor's fancy hammer to bridge them to Lothmar, but Thor refused. Preferred the idea of something less flashy, and less threatening.

Rocket parks the controls in cruise so he can get dressed, and prep for what he'll hear the second they arrive. There’s no place in the universe where a thing like Rocket is normal, especially next to a pirate angel like Thor.

Thor is fixing himself in front of a mirror. His armor has been replaced by softer fabrics - a long black cape with slim-fit slacks. In the time since Thanos, the scars on Thor's face have softened to small creases. Thor trimmed his beard too; it makes him look stupidly attractive.

This mission is jacked. Rocket should have begged off, told Thor to pick one of his pretty Terran pals instead.

“My brother was merciless when we were forced to dress for royal affairs in our youth,” Thor says out of nowhere. “Weddings, dignitary visits and the like. I hated such finery. All I wanted to do was hunt or fight in those days. Loki had his tricks." A smile. "He always found a way to make a bad situation worse. Once, he turned me into a frog minutes before our meeting with the esteemed chancellor of L’qiza. It was a horror. Many warts were involved.”

Rocket crosses his arms. “Y’know, the more you talk about this dead brother, the more he sounds like a complete tool.”

Thor chuckles, a sadder sound. “He was, yes. Always one for mischief at the expense of others.” He takes a breath; Rocket hears it waver.

Rocket fidgets, thinking of Groot. “You sure you’re good for this, Thor?”

Thor’s smile is too wide and not entirely steady. “Oh yes. After all,” his eyes soften, “I’ll have you with me, dear friend.”

“Yeah,” Rocket says carefully. “You got me, I guess.”

Short in stature as Rocket is, he suddenly feels smaller. Insignificant, a wink of dust about to be boiled alive by a goddamn sun.

***

This is the stupidest plan Rocket has ever been a part of, and it takes a lot to beat Quill’s half-baked 12% on Xandar.

Rocket knows good plans, and he knows when shit’s about to hit the fan. A gnawing feeling makes him pull at the collar of his dumb suit. Thor isn't even letting Rocket take any guns! (Rocket may have an emergency thermo-detonator strapped to his leg anyway. Hey, you never know.)

Thor watches Rocket fidget. “You look darling, Rabbit,” he says. Rocket growls, and Thor’s cheeks bunch up like a 1500-year old kid.

Rocket kicks down the ramp to the fancy-ass walkway, tail twitching anxiously behind him. Floor-level lights illuminate the elevated platform, casting diamond-like fractures along their path. The walkway is the only surface between Lothmar's hub and its hangar bay. Low-hanging clouds twist like restless ghosts as they pass.

The hub is a freaking glass house. It has to be built from stronger stuff, but the thing looks like one gigantic fish tank to Rocket. The exterior is see-through, showing off pretty people in pretty clothes. Rocket snarls at the scene. The only thing that makes him march on is the voice in his head saying his morons may still be out there somewhere. Anyone who’s anyone comes to this quadrant, according to Thor. All different species, all different systems. Maybe someone here has seen them?

And if Rocket’s morons are still out there, maybe they found more information on Knowhere than his group did on Terra. Maybe they know how to reverse what Thanos did. Maybe they’ll know how to get Groot back.

“Be nice,” Rocket grumbles to himself. He catches a giggle behind a hand and a whispered ‘aw, cute!’

Oblivious, Thor pats Rocket's back. The bow of his body makes Rocket bristle. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” If Thor feels the metal implants under Rocket’s clothes, he shows no sign. “I must say, it’s a bit quieter than I’m used to. Lothmar is known for its debauchery. This seems rather-”

“Like a funeral?” Scowling, Rocket shrugs out from under Thor’s touch.

“Rabbit.” Rocket spins around, ready for a fight. Thor pauses too, a few steps behind. “You’re right. These are not times of celebration.” His expression is grave. “I misspoke. Forgive me.”

Rocket feels eyes all around them, but Thor doesn't so much as blink. The guy gets so much attention, maybe he doesn’t feel it anymore. “You’re makin’ a scene,” Rocket mutters.

Thor's realization ignites a fresh round of giggles around them. He cringes. “Er...sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Rocket nods towards the hub. “We going in the scary glass house or not?” The anger bleeds out of him, leaving a wry smile.

Thor returns it after a moment. “It is rather odd-looking, isn’t it? I’ve always thought so.” He resumes his place at Rocket’s side, walking with a new spring in his step.

Rocket glances up at him. “No more rubbing either, buddy.”

“What do you mean?” Thor raises a brow. “You are here as my companion. Why wouldn't I touch you?”

Rocket rolls his eyes. “You’ll get a crick in your neck, that’s why. It ain’t normal, big guy like you palling around with a thing like me.”

“Hm.” Thor examines the crowd as they walk. “Should I hold you instead?” he asks.

Rocket squints. “What? No.”

“You weigh nothing,” Thor says, “it would be no burden.” His grin says he's enjoying this way too much.

Rocket huffs. “You ain’t holding me, Thunder. Bad enough you got me to wear this damn suit.”

“Very well. Will you accept…” Thor extends a hand to him. His amusement softens to curiosity.

Skeptical, Rocket closes a fist around Thor’s index and middle finger. “You tell anyone about this…” he growls.

Thor smiles and leads them forward. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says.

***

The main hub on Lothmar is a freakshow. The people are gorgeous, doesn’t matter where they're from. Rocket sees skin of all shades; blue, pink, gold. Some are tall enough to brush the 15-foot ceilings, others are so small Rocket almost trips on them. Rocket sneezes. Wouldn't surprise him to get a bill for smelling all this pricey perfume.

“Gesundheit,” Thor says proudly. “I believe that’s what they say on Midgard. Are you familiar with the term?” Rocket wonders how a 1500-year old dude still manages to be so weird.

They sit in a circle couch along the inner orbit of the ballroom. The vantage point is the only positive Rocket sees in this night so far. It’s a perfect view of the hoity crowd.

Some chick with death white skin croons by the outer wall. She has no hair, and her eyes are green like a forest from space. Polite applause answers her latest number, and she blushes a pretty pink. Pretty like everything else in here. Pretty drinks in martini glasses. Pretty finger foods that fit perfectly in Rocket’s hand. Pretty clothes, pretty shoes, pretty jewels that Rocket’s fingers are itching to snag. (There may already be a string of pearls in his pocket...)

Thor has an arm slung around the back of the couch, fingers dangling above Rocket’s head. He looks crazy next to Rocket, sprawled wide like he’s on a throne. Rocket tucks to Thor’s side, feet kicked up on his thigh. He pretends to listen to Thor make small talk with the vapid idiots sitting in their circle.

They're pretty too, of course. Pretty blue skin, pretty black eyes, pretty hands clutching Thor’s arm. They giggle as he tells another of his kingly stories. Rocket chokes down the rest of his drink. It’s not even good alcohol, too many bubbles to be of any use.

Rocket scowls and sneezes again. He’s annoyed, and this place stinks of money. Thor could have sweet-talked these blue beauties on his own. Why is Rocket here playing his stupid pet?

Thor pauses to glance at Rocket with concern. “Bless,” he says. “Are you alright?” He rubs Rocket’s head.

Rocket shrugs away from him. “I’m gonna walk,” he says.

“Oh. Sure.” Thor looks disappointed. “Do you want company?”

Why the hell would Rocket want company? He wants to disappear and let Thor work these blue things. “Nah. I’ll be back.” Rocket hops off the couch before Thor can give him more grief. The blues wave and chirp goodbyes at him. Rocket ignores them too.

It takes weaving through a maze of legs to make it to the bar. The counter is too tall for Rocket to see over. Small miracles, the bartender - a yellow-scaled species - already waits for him around back. Dravelian. Rocket scammed the hell out of one when he was running gigs out near Contraxia. Good times.

“You got anything that’s not fizzy and pink?” Rocket asks.

When Rocket makes it outside, he’s carrying a glass of genuine whiskey. Thor gets to be hot and kingly, and Rocket gets alone time with the good booze. Works for Rocket.

Lothmar is an upper-class dump, but Rocket has to admit that the outside isn’t so bad. Lothmar doesn’t have a moon, and the clouds are too thick for stars. Everything is dark. It makes the fractured lights across the walkway seem even more expensive. A ship pulls out overhead; Starline Model X410, nice. Red lights pulse as the engine fires.

Rocket climbs a white stone seat and unbuttons his suit collar. He hates dressing up almost as much as he hates idiots with money. People like this pay to make things like Rocket. They sip fizzy drinks and giggle while half the universe goes up in smoke.

Groot flashes in Rocket’s mind, hand extended, trying to hold on. Rocket grimaces.

He follows the slow tread of a red-skinned lady in front of him. She looks at Rocket oddly, eyes glowing purple, not laughing at him, but...weird. Rocket turns with a snort. Must remind her of some long lost pet.

Toasting the empty sky, Rocket drinks.

***

Two non-rodent sized whiskeys later, Rocket stalks back inside to give Thor a piece of his mind. That is, if Rocket can find Thor. Maybe he hit it off with the two bluebirds. He could be bedding them for all Rocket knows.

Thor should be better than this. Dragging Rocket to this hoity hellhole for no reason; Thor’s a freaking god! The universe has gone crazy, the last thing Rocket needs is a jerk for a partner. Not with the fate of his morons on the line.

Sexing the blue twins seems off the table, unless Thor does fast work. He’s sitting where Rocket left him, in the center of the circle couch. The twins are gone, but Thor does a nice job of taking up the seat by himself. He has arms extended along the back cushions and legs spread wide. Rocket glowers at him, nice and slow.

Thor's black cape covers the crotch of his pants. Rocket adds the garment to his shit list.

He slows when he notices the displays in the windows. Every few meters, a naked body performs on a white cube. Purple skin, heavy breasts, interesting little tentacles squeezing between the thighs. Green scales, a puckered mouth, and the longest cock Rocket has ever seen.

Thor looks bored, not even a hint of a smile on his face. God-kings must get weird porn shows like this all the time. Rocket rolls eyes at him. “What the hell kinda orgy did you drag me to?” He climbs on the seat next to Thor.

Thor brightens at Rocket's arrival. “There you are." Rocket oofs and lands on his rear when Thor pulls him against his side.

“Surprised you’re not schmoozing those bluebirds anymore,” Rocket says, brushing his suit sleeves off. “You get to third base or what?” He gives Thor a knowing look.

Thor’s brow furrows. “Third base? What is that?”

Rocket shrugs. He knows it’s a term from some Terran game, but Quill always said it meant boob squeezing and tongue. Home plate is clothes off, full-on dirty rag nasty. “Those twins from before,” Rocket says. “Thought you might give them a taste of the thunder, if you know what I mean.” He winks.

Thor frowns. “What for? They did nothing to provoke me.” Rocket groans and kicks Thor’s leg. “Actually,” Thor says, “they are like us, seeking answers. They were separated from their tribe when the event occured. When they returned to their colony, it was empty, they said. They did not know our fellows, and I did not know theirs. The others I've spoken with...it's been the same, every time.”

Yeah, now Rocket feels like a douchebag.

If Thor notices his discomfort, he does not point it out. “It seems to be the refrain of the evening,” he says. “People looking for people. Even the entertainment is melancholy. The universe is in mourning.”

Rocket gets the feeling, he does. But he can’t help waving an incredulous hand at the bared skin in front of them. “This is sad to you?”

Thor chuckles at his gestures. “Pretty, yes. But...they are alone. Lothmar is not a place to come as one. You bring a companion, always. To be alone is to be severed. It is, for some, a reason to question your honor.”

“These jerks sure don’t like single people, huh?” Now that Thor mentions it, Rocket can’t see any patrons by themselves in this place. Couples dance close, congregate by windows, or look up at the nude performers. They go together to the bar to order drinks, or walk arm in arm to the doors. The only solo Rocket can remember is that weird red chick outside.

“I don’t see what good we will find here,” Thor says, “except more fellows to share our grief.” He lowers his head. “I’ve wasted your time bringing us here, Rabbit.”

Damn Thor. Rocket was more than ready to call the guy on this stupid plan, but he can't now with the guilty eyes on him. One isn’t even real! How can Thor make a fake eye look so sad? “Forget it,” Rocket mutters.

“You have every right to be angry-”

“If there was a shot of finding our morons, we had to take it, Thor.” Rocket glares. “Can it with the apologies. I don't want to hear ‘em." Thor nods, and his thoughtful gaze wanders. Rocket scratches the heels of his boots against Thor’s pants.

“You do look awfully sweet in that suit.” Rocket snarls at Thor's low laugh. “We should share a drink, you and I,” Thor suggests.

Rocket, already two whiskeys in, cannot agree more. “We should share many freaking drinks,” he says.

Thor lifts two fingers, and a passing server nods. Damn royalty. Rocket settles into the couch cushions. “So,” he jokes, “we’re sure there’s no orgy later, right?”

“Would you like there to be?” Thor's brow rises, clearly intrigued.

Rocket double takes at the reaction. After a moment, he clears his throat. “You got issues, Thunder,” he mutters.

“Hm.” Rocket blinks at fingers kneading between his ears. “Maybe so,” Thor says.

Rocket’s jaw clenches. Their drinks can’t come fast enough.

***

“So then - so then this moron says ‘He got my dick message’!”

Thor laughs, hand lax against his own stomach. “The man has his moments, it seems.”

“Yeah, Quill’s an idiot, but he,” Rocket pauses, “he was-"

“Is.” Rocket quiets at the seriousness of Thor’s face. “We are not giving up on our friends, Rabbit.”

Rocket knows it’s stupid to buy into this load of crap, but Thor is convincing! He sounds smart and sure. Like a god...not that Rocket knows many.

“I can see why you're a king, man,” Rocket mumbles. Thor huffs at the sentiment and reclines deeper into the circle’s cushions. Rocket's drink-loose fingers want to climb him like a rock wall.

“And I can see why you are a noble captain, Rabbit,” Thor returns, smiling. “You care much for your friends.”

Rocket chugs his latest whiskey. A sour feeling twists in the pit of his stomach.

***

At first, Thor was just a chance to get away from Rocket’s band of idiots. They were going head-first after some universe-threatening egomaniac. Why the hell would he and Groot stick around for a death sentence?

Then, Rocket saw the guy's good eye gloss over with tears. Then, Thor almost bit the dust on Nidavellir. Then, Rocket saw his awesomeness on Terra. He saw everything after too. The leftover scraps of their ragtag team, piles of ash, disaster.

Rocket saw Thor’s room on Wakanda trashed, busted metal furniture and a bed cracked down the middle. Rocket stomped out the last of the flames. A fading storm grumbled in the distance.

Rocket was the one who sat next to Thor in the middle of his wrecked bunk. Not the guy’s old war pals. Rocket. “You, uh, want me to tell Okoye you torched the bed?” he asked.

Thor chuckled. “I’ll not have you suffer her wrath on my account.” He was crying too, fist balled against his mouth.

Rocket knew then, as his stomach twisted. He knew exactly what he wanted and that he had no chance in hell of getting it. Worst part? Rocket couldn’t leave. He’d made a habit of retreating when the stove got too hot, it was safer not to feel stuff. But when Thor put a hand on Rocket's head, Rocket didn’t say a word.

Thor scrubbed his wet face miserably. “My father would have known,” he muttered. “Go for the head. He would have known-”

“Shut the hell up,” Rocket growled. Thor looked at him, face streaked in tears and fading scars. After a quiet moment, he nodded.

Rocket didn’t say a word about the fingers kneading his stomach. He let Thor do what he had to, while his guts lurched and his head went light. Rocket knew he was toast from that point on. No goddamn hope whatsoever.

***

“It seems rather crazy, looking back. A fever dream, some madness borne of pain or despair or… I’m not sure. But I swear, in that moment I saw my father clear as day. We were on the field of his passing, a place he called home. Norway, a land on Midgard. Do you know it? Rolling green hills and blue water far as the eye can see. My father said I was stronger than him. He said I could be every bit the king he was, but... Our companions are out there somewhere, as are half of my people. My brother is dead, Heimdall, our friends; Rabbit, I... What would he have done in my stead? And would I have dared question him as I question myself now?”

Thor’s rumbling voice quiets, and Rocket blinks. He frowns, lifting his bleary head, and realizes he’s supposed to say something. 

Thor turns a crooked smile downward. “Forgive me,” he says. “I’ve said too much.” Rocket doubts the alcohol hits Thor like it does him. Still, Thor is warm in the face, and Rocket wants to run fingers all over his cheeks.

 _Whatever_ , Rocket says to himself. He uses drink-loosened limbs to climb Thor’s thigh. The guy is huge and strong, and Rocket reclines against his ribs. Thor drapes a wrist over Rocket’s hip and plucks at his chest. _A little lower_ , Rocket thinks. He fidgets against the tickle flooding his gut.

“Why’d you ask me?” Rocket asks. “Your other pals are around. Why’d you want me on this one?”

Thor’s mouth tightens at the question. “We’ve shared much in recent days,” he says. “I value your company and your counsel, Rabbit.”

“You...know my name’s Rocket, right?”

Thor looks at him oddly. “Do you dislike the term?”

Rocket takes a second to think. “Guess not,” he mumbles. Annoyed, he realizes it’s true.

Thor smiles and circles fingers around Rocket’s stomach. New warmth makes Rocket blow out a shaking breath. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you revel before,” Thor says. “It’s quite relaxing.”

“m’not drunk,” Rocket grumbles, but he wishes he was. At least then he’d have an excuse for how damn hot he feels. “What’s it take for a god to get buzzed anyway?”

Thor’s good eye takes on a new light. From under his cloak, he retrieves a simple gold vial. “For later,” Thor says. “It is best saved for private use.” He pinches its little cap between two fingers and gives the bottle a shake.

“Am I part of this ‘later’ or what?” Rocket asks. When the words come out, he realizes how bad the insinuation sounds.

Thor chuckles. “I’ll leave that to your discretion.”

Rocket chews back a noise he would definitely regret.

***

“Hey. Thought you said this wasn’t an orgy.” The statement comes out more slur than words.

Rocket’s face sits on Thor’s stomach, but his eyes follow the window displays with interest. The solo nudes are not solo anymore. Two now join together on each cube. Rocket thinks they are dancing at first, gyrating hips and winding limbs. Now, he sees it’s way more involved. There is definite penetration going on. Tongues and mouths too. And those tiny tentacles, damn.

“It’s never a guarantee, but - hmm, thank you.” Rocket rolls glazed eyes upward. Thor gives a polite smile to two green randos rubbing his hair.

Rocket scowls when they do the same to him, stroking his fur with green, wormy arms. A’askavariians? Have to be. They have the razor teeth too. Brutal.

Thor continues speaking as soon as the pair leaves, as if they weren't just pet by some eight-armed weirdos. “Lothmar values unity. Coupling can be part of the deal.”

“Uh-huh.” Rocket narrows skeptical eyes. “Guess there’s a reason it was popular with the puberty crowd on your planet.”

Thor chuckles. “Oh, I don’t know. Many would find this a safer haven than a pleasure den or some other house of debauchery.”

“Houses of debauchery are where dreams come true, my friend - what the!?” Rocket bares teeth at the new hand rubbing his head.

Another couple stands before the circle couch. Their peach skin is frail, foreheads severely pocked. The two seem older, if the droop of their necks is a sign. Then again, age is relative when the dude you're hanging with is a 1500-year old god.

The two do not seem put off by Rocket’s displeasure. They coo at him with high pitched squeaks, before turning their attention to Thor. Together, they rub his hair and caress his face. Rocket growls, but Thor only offers another patient smile. “Thank you,” he says.

Rocket barely manages to wait until the pair is out of earshot. “What the hell!?” he demands.

“A ritual of departure,” Thor explains. “It is customary to lay hands on another pair. A blessing for good fortune and union. It's a rather...tactile tradition for my tastes.”

“Lemme get this straight,” Rocket says, crossing his arms. “I had to get all dolled up for this place. No guns, nothing." He purposefully leaves out the thermo-detonator. "We get no help from anyone. No one here’s seen our people. Now I gotta watch all these jackoffs touch you? Cause what, it’s some freaking _ritual_?”

“They are rather fond of you, aren’t they?” Rocket squints, trying to make sense of the question. “I promise to be civil, Rabbit.”

“Huh?”

“Touching you should be my right only tonight, shouldn’t it?” A smile plays at Thor’s lips, and Rocket’s brow furrows even deeper.

“Let someone else try,” Rocket mutters. “I’ll bite their freaking hand off." Thor sighs, relaxing deeper into the cushions. Rocket wants to rub his face in Thor’s smile.

“You’re saying you want to leave, I take it?” Thor asks.

“Means I've gotta watch you rub on these A-holes?”

Thor scritches Rocket’s head as an answer. Good feelings pour down Rocket’s spine. It takes all his effort to not drop his head back and lick Thor’s fingers. “I quite enjoy you like this,” Thor says. “You are affectionate when you drink.”

“You may get touched all the time, your highness, but I don’t want no one’s grubby hands on me. I don’t know where they’ve been. Disgusting!”

Thor grins. “I suppose I should remove my own...grubby hands as well?” The fingers rubbing Rocket’s ears stop. It's like he knows what Rocket is hiding. Like he's playing right along!

Glowering, Rocket bares teeth at Thor in challenge. “Put up or shut up, Thunder. I hate jerks who can’t finish what they start.”

“Hm.” Thor’s expression is all amusement. Rocket stiffens when fingers drift under his open suit collar. Short nails scratch the back of his neck.

Thor smiles at the naked window performers but does not linger on any. “I value your opinion too much, Rabbit,” Thor says, “for you to think me a coward.”

Rocket’s already dry mouth goes even sandier. He works saliva on his tongue until he thinks he can speak without embarrassing himself. “So...to get outta here, we’ve gotta touch all these losers?”

“Not all. One pair,” Thor says. “Only one. We just happen to be a popular choice this evening, it seems. I’m not surprised. After all, I'm with you.”

Rocket doesn’t bother acknowledging that last part, because - what? “Closest pair to the door,” Rocket says. He’s already wobbling to his feet, pausing long enough to drain the rest of his glass.

“With the lady in the hat?” Thor asks. “Sure. Any reason?”

“They’re freaking _closest to the door_ ,” Rocket growls. He hops to the floor. “Let’s go.” He hears Thor chuckling, but the God of Thunder follows his lead anyway. It takes everything in Rocket’s power not to spin around and watch.

***

Rocket should be on his own cot passing out. He should not be hoisting himself onto Thor’s bed and planting himself against the guy's pillow.

The sleeping quarters on this cruiser are tight, beds lining the walls of the same cabin. Thor lounges on his back, shirtless and staring at the ceiling. The vial of whatever god-booze sits on his chest.

Thor glances at Rocket when he climbs onto the bed. His smile is welcoming, but it falls quickly back into pensiveness. “In the morning, we'll set off. Perhaps progress was made in our absence.”

Wakanda’s scientists are hard at work charting the phenomenon and its after effects. They’ve sent signals to the stars with help from Thor and Rocket's knowledge. Their hails have not gone unnoticed, but the responses have only led to more questions. The whole universe is in mourning. Everyone wants answers, but no one has them.

Rocket doubts they missed anything while they've been here, but he isn't in the mood to argue. He just nods and watches Thor sip from his little gold flask. “What would happen if I tried some of that stuff?” he asks.

Thor’s mouth quirks. “Dire consequences,” he says. “I value you far too much to allow it.” Rocket snorts, but he's more interested in the glassy haze to Thor's good eye. Thor looks relaxed and warm. Rocket is having all kinds of bad thoughts.

“Your hair looks stupid,” Rocket mumbles. He cards a hand through strands mussed by the weird nubs of the A'askvarii. “Can't believe you let those things get all up in here. Disgusting.”

“Yes.” Thor closes eyes at the touch. His mouth is wet from the god-booze, and his breaths shift the bed with every exhale.

Rocket tips on a side, casual, and fits himself against Thor's arm. The guy is all muscle, firm to Rocket's body. It takes every ounce of self-control not to rut into Thor like a hyperactive mutt. When Thor chuckles, heat sinks without warning to Rocket's belly. Rocket's legs go jelly-weak.

“It is not wise to lie with me right now, Rabbit,” Thor mumbles.

“Th’hell do I care about wisdom?” Rocket snarls at an errant piece of Thor’s hair and plucks it back into place. Thor's quiet sound startles Rocket to shivering.

“Fuck,” Rocket mumbles. He's screaming all over, dizzy and hot, and the look Thor gives him could melt an ice moon. Screw it, Rocket is floating. He may as well blame the booze later and rock his hips up now. Thor’s arm wedges tight between his legs, and everything goes warm. Then, Thor turns.

Rocket growls at the loss of Thor’s arm between his thighs, but he goes mute when Thor’s face replaces it. Thor nods, nose on Rocket's belly, and cups Rocket’s back in a single large hand. Rocket gladly juts forward. “Yes,” Thor says again, for some reason. The big guy’s exhales seep into Rocket's fur, standing his cock up in his shorts. Thor groans, and Rocket’s waist jumps in encouragement.

He should worry about the weird god-juice if this is what it turns Thor into. Rocket should probably stop him, but if the guy wants to go grab-happy, what’s the harm, right? They'll laugh about this in the morning, just two buds fooling around.

Rocket snickers when Thor’s chin touches his stomach. Thor smiles at the reaction, and their noses touch. Gross, but Rocket still scratches hands across Thor's stubbled jaw. God, the guy’s going to hate himself tomorrow. Who knew a king could be such a mushball with a few shots?

“Mmm, thank you, Rabbit.” Thor's smile is the opposite of innocent when he rubs his face between Rocket's legs. The weird little prick Rocket's makers gave him feels like even more of a sideshow.

Yeah ok... This has been fun, but Rocket should get Thor off him before Thor does something he won't be happy about tomorrow. He doesn't seem drunk but - hell, what's a drunk god-man supposed to be like? As bad as Rocket wants him, he doesn’t want the guilt. Freaking feelings; good for nothing.

Only, Thor already has Rocket’s shorts down and his face buried between Rocket's naked legs. Rocket’s little cock is full mast, no bigger than Thor’s smallest finger. Thor doesn't seem to care; he digs right in, dragging on Rocket like a damn pipe. Rocket flounders, bucking off the bed. "Oh shit!"

Thor’s lips are sucked red, and his nose rubs Rocket's stomach with every motion of his head. Rocket realizes that Thor has his pants unzipped. They form a wide open V, his cock out, red and heavy. Thor fists himself and pants for breath on Rocket's stomach. Rocket marvels at the restless tremor in Thor's waist.

“You got...so many issues, man,” Rocket moans. “There's... _fuck_ , there’s so much wrong with you.”

Thor chuckles hoarsely. The sound purrs through Rocket like an overactive vibrator. Shit, it's too soon! But what can Rocket do with a guy Thor's size? His mouth is _so much_. Rocket is drowning, swallowed alive. He can't move, he can't think. Thor sucks eagerly on Rocket's lower belly. His face is on Rocket's chest, hand on his back, hair stroking Rocket's face. It's insane!

Rocket comes with a shout, fists balled full of Thor’s hair. Thor's tongue keeps right on playing as Rocket's body jolts straight on the sheets. Rocket shudders and gasps. The room tilts in and out of focus.

Thor releases Rocket's little prick, but he's still breathing heavily. Rocket feels like water, spilling everywhere. He kneads Thor’s scalp and scratches fingers down his face.

Thor’s expression is beyond pleasure; unbridled, unashamed. He tucks his face against Rocket's belly and moans as he touches himself. A hand rubs the sensitive plain above Rocket’s tail. Rocket hisses and rocks forward. He's throbbing all over.

“Nnn-" Rocket manages when Thor's tongue drags up his cock. No way, he just - _fuck_! Low, sudden groans bubble into Rocket’s fur. Thor’s huge body trembles like he can't help himself. His face turns fever-pink, and tension lines his body. Rocket’s eyes fix on his two perfect, pebbled nipples.

Rocket caves; Thor’s face is too warm to resist. Rocket snuffles through his hair and nuzzles the sweat on his brow. He licks Thor’s eyelids and nibbles the bridge of his nose. Thor's sounds are more frequent, high pitched like questions. His mouth slips from Rocket's prick on a quiet, shaking groan.

Rocket licks Thor’s lips. He tastes...wow…

The sound Thor makes probably isn't legal in most star systems. His good eye squeezes shut, and he buries his face in Rocket's stomach. His orgasm is violent and abrupt, a snap of his waist and shudder through his body. He pants into Rocket's fur.

Rocket sniffs the air, head raised; something is burning. It's the bedspread, charred black under Thor’s hand. His cum-stained fingers are still smoking. “Was that you?” Rocket slurs. “Holy _shit_ , that's awesome.”

“Rabbit.” Thor’s voice sounds like it's been speared by nails. Rocket's head spins. “May I?” His weary breaths tease Rocket’s half-erect cock.

“Hell yeah,” Rocket says. Like anyone in their right mind would say no.

Thor groans, and Rocket goes to rubber on the torched sheets. His mouth fixes on Rocket, wet and so damn big. Stubble scratches Rocket's thighs, and fingers knead the crook of Rocket’s tail. Rocket is gone, rutting into Thor’s mouth. He’s fucking a god’s lips for crying out loud. Every coaxing sound Thor makes boils him hotter.

Rocket comes again so fast and sudden, he has no time to be embarrassed. Moaning, spasming, he scratches pink lines into Thor's cheeks. Thor’s lips curl around him. Rocket crashes back on Thor's pillow in a mess of shivers. He's floating, overwarm.

Thor finally lets up and tucks his face against Rocket’s belly. He's laughing. This isn't the reaction Rocket usually wants after getting laid, but Thor sounds happy and tired. Rocket can deal with it.

“Forgive me tomorrow,” Thor murmurs.

Rocket wants to swim around in his rasped voice. “The hell for?” he asks.

“I could not help myself.” Thor sighs. “I tried, but...you…”

Rocket buries his face against Thor’s hair. “Shut up,” he mumbles. Rocket is too far gone for anything else.

***

Rocket does not dream. He usually dreams all the time - of his makers, of Yondu, of Groot and his morons going out in a breath of smoke. The break from the nightmares is weird. Rocket wakes out of sorts without that old tired fear in his bones.

It takes a few minutes for Thor to stir next to him. He makes a small, puzzled sound, a crease between his eyes. Slowly, Thor blinks awake. The mechanical eye shifts unnaturally left then right as it comes back online. But the good eye is what holds Rocket's attention. Its focus smears across the ceiling sleepily before settling on Rocket.

After a moment, Thor smiles. “Sweet Rabbit,” he sighs. No regrets, no disgust.

“Are all gods this cuddly?” Rocket hums, stretching. “Disgusting, man.” Thor kisses Rocket's chest, and Rocket bumps his nose against Thor’s brow. Gross. Rocket feels warm all over.

They dress, eat, and discuss departure plans. It's like normal, except Rocket knows now. When Thor grins at him, or jokes, or leans down to rub his head, Rocket gets it. It's out of this galaxy insane, makes no sense whatsoever. But as weird as this is, it’s happening.

“You know you got issues, right?” Rocket asks, glancing up from trajectory screens. Thor smiles. The look makes something pleasant tighten in Rocket's chest.

Thor’s expression turns thoughtful. “Do you know her?”

Rocket follows Thor’s attention to the ramp monitor. A woman with red skin stands outside their ship. Rocket frowns. “Yeah, I mean...no. I saw the broad last night. Gave me a funny look, that’s all.”

“Funny how?” Thor’s tone darkens. Amusing as the reaction is, something flutters in Rocket’s stomach. Damn it.

“Like she knew me,” Rocket says. “Or I knew her. Didn't make a peep though. She was by herself. Guess that's weird here, huh?”

“She was alone? On Lothmar?” Thor frowns and rises. Rocket follows him out to the ship’s entranceway.

At the foot of the lowered ramp, the red lady stands. Her blue top does not quite match her green, long skirt, red hair pulled back in a messy bun.

“Can we help you?” Thor asks. He's terse, not outright hostile but clearly suspicious. It's kinda hot, if Rocket is being honest.

“I know you,” she says, looking at Rocket.

Rocket shrugs. “Get that a lot. Guess I've got one of those faces.”

“On Xandar, when the ship fell. The dance to save the world.”

“The what?” Thor looks to Rocket.

“You knew my husband,” she says first, eyes never leaving Rocket. “Rhomann Dey.”

“Oh…” Rocket blinks. “Yeah. Leader of the Nova Corps. Xandarian armed forces.” This he says to Thor.

Thor puzzles at him, then looks down the ramp. “But Xandar was destr…” He stops. At once, his frost melts. He lowers his voice. “I'm sorry.”

“And the Corpsman,” Rocket says, “he-"

“We made it off Xandar. Rhomann, me, our daughter. But something happened. They were there, right next to me. I had Duranna in my arms, then…”

Rocket only manages words because Thor doesn't. Thor’s fists are too tight, anger and sadness clamped through his jaw. “It's the guy who trashed Xandar,” Rocket says. “Same one. He did something, it happened everywhere.”

She nods, looking away. Her mouth purses a moment before she draws something from her skirt pocket. A tablet, and a holo screen. “I've been looking for anyone, anything that might know, and I - this. Two weeks ago, I saw this. I remembered her face on the wanted signs. It's a hard one to forget."

“Shit.” Rocket stares at the raised holo image. “That's Nebula. Gamora’s sister,” he says to Thor, whose self-anger has quieted to confusion. “Is that - where was this? Does it pull out, was she with anyone-"

“That's...not possible.” Rocket looks at Thor. He stares at Nebula like he knows her. Maybe he does, Rocket thinks. Daughters of Thanos had a pretty big rap sheet, she could have made it up to the land of the gods for sure.

Only, Thor isn't looking at Nebula. He's squinting at the edge of the raised image, at some dude looking worse for wear at Nebula’s side. “Stark,” Thor breathes.

Rocket hikes a thumb at the image. “What, that's your metal guy? What the hell’s he doing with Nebula?”

“Where is this from?” Thor demands. The lady Dey’s expression gives him pause; her wide eyes soft and wet at the corners. Rocket sees Thor deflate, slumped shoulders and a weary breath. “Perhaps you can show us,” he says. “Will you come in?”

The first smile crosses her face, muted by sadness. She climbs the ramp to join them.

As the entrance closes, Rocket nudges Thor’s knee. He doesn't know what he's trying to say, but the feeling sits tight in his chest. Thor glances at him. “I know,” he says.

Rocket blows out a breath and follows them to the cockpit.

*The End*


End file.
